Shirou Emiya and the Philosophers Stone
by Sourl3monz
Summary: Dear Mr. Emiya, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.


_**AN: So, I'm just sitting around playing Fate/Stay Night over the holidays when my sister decides to start on a Harry Potter movie marathon. I love Harry Potter so I watched it with her. While I was doing so, I couldn't help but try and mesh the two magic systems together. From that thought experiment came this. A mashup of the 2. Now this is planned much more as a joining of worlds than as a simple character insert. Because of that, many things may be slightly different. After reading this, you'll probably see some of the things I am talking about. Now, please read and review. I hope you enjoy it. **_

_**ALSO, anyone who is waiting on Legend of the Vizards, I apologize. I have more than half of the next chapter done. I just need to work something out before I can finish it, but it should be soon.**_

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><p><em>It was a sea of fire.<em>

_The once quiet town had been reduced to a vision of hell. A wall of flame danced high above the remains of fallen buildings. What were once homes, sanctuaries to those inside; were reduced to smoldering rubble, glowing like red coals in the intense heat. The scent of death and burnt flesh choked the air. Screams and moans of pain rode these air currents like hellish banshees. _

_A single boy limbed through the wreckage. He was dragging his left leg behind him, it refused to move. He felt pain. With each step, burning needles seemed to tear him apart from the inside. His skin felt…hard and brittle; like it was about to crack. He must have been lucky, or perhaps his house was just built in a good spot. It would be hard to tell which it was, but it didn't really matter. The only thing that did, was that he felt like the only one left alive. _

_It was dangerous here. It wasn't that he was afraid of getting burned like the others; no it was more than that. Something else was at the forefront of his mind._

_The boy had survived, and felt that since he had, he should live on. He walked aimlessly, dragging his leg and struggling to stand, but he had to move. _

_But still, there was no hope. It was already a miracle that he was still alive, so he shouldn't expect to be saved. _

_There was not a building left standing, shriveled figures in a vaguely human shape were scattered about. Some were moving, weakly calling out for help. One poor soul had locked eyes with him, what remained of her face twisted in anguish. She was trapped under smoldering debris; only the top half was visible. The woman looked at him pleading; for help, for death? The boy didn't know. He turned away and continued on. He couldn't die here. A half scream/ half moan followed him as he limped away. It wouldn't for much longer. _

_What had happened, what had caused this? He couldn't remember, there was nothing. He was here and he was in pain. There was nothing else. _

_He wouldn't survive. There was no escape from the crimson world of fire and death. It was such an absolute hell that even children like him could understand. _

_He collapsed. Maybe all the oxygen had been burned away, or maybe his body had finally given out. It was a miracle that he had made it this far, there was never any hope for escape. _

_Staring blankly up at the cloudy sky, he muttered to himself "It hurts." He says so on behalf of all the people who couldn't say it themselves. For the woman who had been crushed, for the man who went back for his kids, for everyone else who was cursed to be here. _

_He felt a pinprick of cold on his face. Good, so the rain was coming. Perhaps the fire would die out eventually. _

_The boy could hear footsteps. Someone dropped down beside him. He weakly turned his head to look. A man was looking down at him. _

"_You're alive…" The man grabbed his hand off the ground and started to cry. He was happy to have found someone alive. Truly happy, from the bottom of his heart, so much so that one might think he was the one who was being saved. _

_It made the boy jealous. This man was grateful to him. He was dying and now he looked upon the face of the happiest man he had ever seen._

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><p>Golden-brown eyes squinted as white light filled his vision. "So bright." When his eyes began to focus, he was surprised. He was lying on a bed in an unfamiliar room. His surroundings were all white and clean. "Where am I?" He looked around; his bed was not the only one. There were many others lining the wall and everyone seemed to be in pain. But, it wasn't a room of suffering; no it was a place for those who had been saved. These were the ones who had made it.<p>

He glanced outside the window to see the bright blue sky. Maybe he was a little biased, but right now he felt it was unbelievably beautiful. Nurses in lime green robes could be seen moving back and forth between the patients often, he thought to himself that they seemed strangely upbeat, happy even. They were giving out vials of odd smelling liquid to them all periodically, saying it would help with the pain. When asked if he needed anything however, the boy would decline. It might seem impossible, but there wasn't a thing wrong with him.

Eventually, the reason why he was there began flooding back. He was told over and over again by the nurses that he was just there to get some check ups. But that didn't seem right; he remembered the pain, the agony of the burns, so where was the proof of it? Even without the burns however, he was still almost the same as a newborn baby.

After the rain had come he had been saved somehow, or at least in part. His body had survived, but everything else had been burned to ashes. His name, his memories, there was nothing. If you take away a child's parents, their home, and everything they know, there is nothing left for them. He had only his body.

In order for his body to live, his heart had died.

The fire had been terrible, but somehow he had been saved. He didn't understand how he had survived, much less how he had gotten there, but he did vaguely understand that now he was alone.

After a week, he began to worry about what would happen to him.

"Hello." someone had come to see him. He was a man with dark unruly hair wearing a long black coat. The man gave him a slight smile. His face was familiar; it was one memory which seemed to have survived. "What's your name?"

Name? He didn't know. He stared blankly at the man for a while before shrugging.

The man seemed to think for a moment. "How about Shirou?" Seeing his confused look, the man managed to chuckle. "For your hair."

White? The boy didn't know why, but that seemed wrong. Once again, his face must have given him away.

"It wasn't like that when I found you." The boy's eyes widened, that was where he had seen this man before. He had been the one to pull him out of the fire.

The man thought for a moment before continuing. "I'll ask you directly. Which would you prefer? To go to an orphanage or to be adopted by a man you've never even met before?"

"Are you...related to me?" the boy asked, trying to make sense of it.

"No, I'm just a stranger."

The boy thought for a moment. The man had saved him, but was that enough of a reason? He had his doubts, but it made no difference. He knew just as much about this man as he knew about the orphanage, and he seemed willing to take him in. He decided to go with him.

The man's small smile widened. His acceptance seemed to bring him joy. "I see, that's good." He rose with a grin on his face. "Get ready quickly then, you should get used to your new place as quickly as you can." He turned to look for a nurse and wondered out of the room.

Perhaps it was because he had nothing else to cling to, a name, a family, something to believe in; but someone the boy, now named Shirou, had instantly come to trust the man.

Since then, Shirou became his child. He wouldn't truly remember what was said that day, but his new father would always talk about it. He would remember and retell the story again and again. So for that man, Kiritsugu Emiya, that might have been the happiest day of his life.

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><p>A heavy oak door burst open with a clang. "Is it true what they say Albus?" Minerva McGonagall was tense. Her eyes scanned the room. A small crowd of people were crammed into an ornate office, but her target was the one in the middle.<p>

"It seems so, Minerva." Albus Dumbledore greeted the stern looking woman who entered his office. Dumbledore was a tall, thin man, and one who was very old judging by the color of his hair and beard, both long enough to touch the floor of his office. "If nothing else, the feasts seem to indicate it is so."

"Oh yes, everyone seems to be celebrating all right." The woman responded, seeming anything but pleased. Minerva McGonagall was an older witch, but still decades away from the man she was speaking to. Her black hair was tied into a tight bun, and square glasses adorned her face. "But how can we be sure?" She continued. "There was…" Her face turned solemn. "…there was nothing left of Godric's Hollow."

The elderly headmaster nodded morosely. It had been a terrible tragedy. The Order had attempted to hide them, but the Dark Lord had found them just the same. The dark magic used in Godric's Hollow was the foulest he had ever witnessed. The village had been completely and utterly destroyed, not a single structure remained, for all had been burned to ash. "Some of our most powerful protection charms were needed, but we were able to recover some items from the ashes." A curse now hung over the charred village. It was as if malice itself had gained an ethereal form. To stand in the area for too long had caused many of the weaker aurors to double over in pain or pass out; some had to be rushed off to St. Mungos. The town would probably never be the same again.

The headmaster waved over to a large, dark skinned man standing away from them. The man nodded and walked over to a large oak desk, gingerly picked up something wrapped in a soft cloth, and handed it over to Dumbledore. "Thank you, Kingsley." He began to unwrap the bundle.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Professot McGonagall as she eyed what the headmaster held in his hands. "Is that…"

"Yes, Voldemort's wand." Every other person in the room flinched at hearing the name. In his hands he held what looked like a long, thin piece of wood. "Thirteen and half inches, yew, with a phoenix feather core. We took it by Ollivanders' earlier to make sure."

"What happened to it?" The wand she was looking at had seen better days. The shaft had been charred black, and the tip seemed to have exploded or blown off. What had caused such damage? The fire, as hot as it may have been, couldn't have burned a magical tool as powerful as this.

"His wand seems to have backfired." Dumbledore answered, re-wrapping the wand. "When I asked Ollivander, he tested the wand and learned his last spell had been the killing curse." The words caused some of those present to pale. "Somehow, this spell seemed to reverse itself and reverse itself back into his wand."

"I've never heard of such a thing."

"Well, it hardly matters now." The headmaster placed the wrapped wand back onto his desk. "Regardless of how it happened, the dark lord is gone, and we have much to be thankful for." He reached into a pot on his desk and retracted a small yellow ball. "Lemon drops anyone?"

"A what?"

"A lemondrop, a muggle sweet I've become rather fond of." He popped the yellow candy into his mouth.

Professor McGonagall let out a sigh. "Even if You-Know-Who, is gone…"

"My dear Professor, certainly someone like you can call him by his name." said the headmaster, busily trying to break apart two lemon drops which had stuck together. "It can get so confusing when we say You-Know-Who. I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"Of course you wouldn't." McGonagall said, sounding exasperated. "But you're different. Everyone knows that he was afraid of you. That's why he never tried anything with us at Hogwarts."

"You flatter me."

Mcgoonagel fought down what might have been the early stages of a grin. Her face sharpened quickly. "I believe what you say Albus, but there will be many who will need more convincing. Without a body or a witness, it will be difficult to ease the public's minds that he is well and truly gone."

"It will take some time to heal, Minerva." Albus answered. "Most wounds do, especially those which went as deep as Voldemort." The Dark Lord and his army had terrorized the wizarding world for over a decade. The war between the light and dark had claimed many victims and it would take several generations for the world to properly recover. Perhaps now they could begin that long slow process.

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><p>3 years later…<p>

The door creaks open with rusty squeal, allowing light into the shed. The boy inside flipped over with a moan, turning himself away from the morning rays. He had slept in the shed again, he didn't need to open his eyes to tell that much. The concrete floor was cool, but hard. He must have overdone it again last night.

"GOOD MORNIIIIIING SHIROU!" The door flew open the rest of the way.

The boy sat up with a groan. "Good morning Fuji-nee."

"You're late; it's already time for breakfast!" There in the doorway stood Taiga Fujimura, the first friend Shriou had made since he came to Japan with Kiritsugu. She had light brown hair tied back in a ponytail and was wearing what Shirou recognized as the uniform for her school. A kendo stick was resting on her shoulder.

"You mean it's time for me to make breakfast." Shirou stood up and stretched, working out the kinks from sleeping on the hard floor all night.

"Yep." She lifted her kendo stick from her shoulder and pointed outwards from the shed. "Onward, to the kitchens!" The girl skipped off in the direction of the main building.

Shirou followed after her, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It had been three years since he had been adopted, and Shirou could honestly say he liked his new life with Kiritsugu. Shortly after he had left the hospital, they two of them left the country and boarded a plane to Japan. When asked why, Kiritsugu claimed that aside from Japan being his home country, things were going to be quite hectic in England for a while and it would be better if they just avoided it. Now, the two of them lived alone in a large Japanese-style house in a place called Fuyuki City. The house was confusing at first to the boy due to its sheer size. It was too large, too grand for just the two of them. At times, he couldn't help but feel like something was missing, that there was something else which was supposed to be there.

After about a week in his new home; Kiritsugu introduced him to a man named Raiga Fujimura that apparently lived just down the street from them. He was a middle aged man in what Shirou would come to recognize as traditional Japanese dress. Apparently the two of them would frequently have some important business to discuss.

These meetings would become a regular occurrence at the Emiya estate. Once a week, Raiga Fujimura would come by and speak with his father in hushed tones. Shirou's curiosity would occasionally draw him to lean against the door and try to make out what they were saying, but he could rarely make anything out. Their words were always somewhat distorted, like they were speaking underwater. Even when he placed his ear to the crack of the doors, it was nearly indecipherable. It was almost as if the room they were in muffled the sound of their voices.

On one of these visits however, Raiga brought someone along with him. It was a girl slightly older than him wearing a tracksuit; her brown hair tied back into a ponytail. She was introduced as his daughter. The two of them hadn't gotten along at first. The girl had seemingly boundless energy and simply wouldn't leave him alone whenever she visited. Maybe it was his oddly colored hair, maybe it was because he was a foreigner, but there must have been something about him that she found wildly interesting. There were constant questions about where he was from, which always led to disappointment as he himself couldn't remember something as simple as his own name.

One day she arrived complaining about how she just knew she was going to fail an upcoming English test. Feeling sorry for her obviously down mood, Shirou claimed that he could probably help her. Based on her reaction, it was as if he had become god himself. The girl shot over and practically talked him to the ground in joy.

Since Shirou was almost nine at the time, he had no real mastery of the language, but it was still enough to help Taiga with a few issues such as word order and sentence structure. Eventually these "study sessions" become more regular than the meetings between Kiritsugu and Raiga. While Taiga had grown better with the subject at time, it didn't stop her from showing up at their house. Not since Shirou started cooking.

When he was old enough to stay at home by himself, Kiritsugu began to leave the house on a regular basis; claiming that he was leaving to "travel the world." This would become routine over the next few years. His father would leave the empty house to him for a month at a time and once for over half a year.

During these long periods of near solitude, Shirou began to experiment in the kitchen. Cooking became somewhat of a hobby of his during this time. Taiga would help on occasion, but for the most part she would just watch and greedily test anything he attempted. If there was anything the girl loved, it was food. With practice, Shirou got better. There were countless failures, but that is to be expected when working on a new craft. It gave him something to do; to work on and perfect while his adopted father was away on one of his long trips.

When Kiritsugu returned from these extended journeys, he would tell Shirou stories of what he had seen, and the young boy who had taken his name would wait patiently at home to hear those stories. Sometimes he was lonely all by himself in the vast house, even with Taiga's frequent visits, but that feeling of loneliness would fade when he heard those stories.

The man seemed to be chasing some dream like a kid. His father's attitude was odd, but he was fascinating to his adopted son.

Perhaps that was why he wanted to be like him someday.

Shirou squinted as he stepped out into the morning sun. The shed stood off alone at the edge of the Emiya Estate. Mostly, it was used as a place to store various junk from the main house. His father wouldn't like it if he found out he slept in there again. For some reason, Kiritsugu didn't seem to like it when he snuck in there.

When his father was out on one of his trips, Shirou didn't like being alone in such a large house. He couldn't help but think it was odd. It had been three years since he had been living with Kiritsugu and he never saw a single relative. Nobody ever visited outside of Taiga and her father. If his father wasn't even here for half the year, why was his house so big?

Being out there in the shed, surrounded by the various junk just seemed to suit him more. He wasn't really sure if it was the junk or the space which seemed more inviting. A few of the items in the shed were discarded or broken appliances and sometimes Shirou would attempt to fix them, but rarely with any real results. Last night he had tried to fix a busted leaf blower. It wasn't his best work; in fact the thing might be in worse shape than when he started working on it. He couldn't help but feel disappointment at that. Maybe he'll get back to it tomorrow.

He stepped up onto the porch and followed his usual path towards the kitchen. Taiga was already sitting at the table, eyeing him impatiently.

Shirou entered the kitchen and tied on his apron, its ends almost dragging the floor. He got to work almost immediately. It would be difficult to make a proper breakfast this late; usually he had almost twice as long to cook. He settled for something simple; cooked salmon and carrot miso soup.

When he was finished, Taiga accepted her portion joyfully. The girl then pounced on the food like a lion on the savanna. It was little more than a wounded zebra to her ravenous attack; there would be no survivors. Shirou shoveled down his own food as well out of necessity. The girl had been known to swipe things from under his nose.

"Thanks for the food!" Taiga half shouted, leaping from the table. "I'll head out now, can't be late today!" The girl jogged out of the dining room and out the door, leaving Shirou to clean up.

Mumbling under his breath, Shirou gathered up the bowls and plates and moved them to the sink. After he finished washing the dishes, he decided to get ready for school.

At first Shirou had been against going to school, but Kiritsugu had insisted upon it; claiming it would help him readjust to his new home. Once he started going, he found he didn't hate it, and something about the whole process seemed vaguely familiar. At first the major obstacle to overcome was learning the native language, but there were programs to help him adjust.

Shirou wasn't a great student, but he wasn't a terrible one either. He was bright enough to do well, all of his instructors thought so; but they would also say he was never really all there. Simply put, the boy had a problem with daydreaming. He thought of his projects back in the shed, new recipes, but more than anything else, he thought of magic.

He knew that magic existed, Kiritsugu had told him so the day he was adopted. He was a wizard, a man capable of performing magic. It wasn't something he really liked to talk about and it was something he had rarely ever seen, but there had been glimpses. Levitating a pen across the room, turning the lights on without touching the switch, he even swore he saw him hypnotize a door to door salesman once.

There had been several times when Shirou had asked if he could learn from the man, but each time he had been denied. When asked why, the reply was always that he simply wasn't old enough yet.

As Shirou finished dressing himself for school, he took a look at himself in the mirror. The most striking change in the past few years had been his hair. While it had been white when he had first arrived, now it had settled into a red the color of rust. Just why it had changed was a mystery not only to him, but to Kiritsugu as well.

Shirou had grown since he had first arrived, but only around average height for the people in his classes. At least he thought he was average. Since he knew absolutely nothing about what his life was like before the fire, he didn't really know his age. The best guess when they arrived put him at somewhere around eight. His birthday was a mystery as well. Kiritsugu had told him he should just pick any day he wanted, so Shirou decided on June 10th, the day he had arrived in Japan. The day he started his new life here would forevermore be his new birthday. Based on that date, he would be turning eleven soon. Maybe then he'd be "old enough."

He left the house and bolted the door behind him. The walk to school was only about a mile away from his house, and pretty much all downhill. He didn't encounter many people along the way; it was still too early for most to be leaving home. Taiga was an exception due to her club responsibilities. She was the captain of her middle schools kendo team and needed to be there much earlier for the morning practices.

Once he arrived at school he went straight to his classroom and plopped down in his seat. Before long, the other students began to file in.

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><p>Classes had ended just like any other day, some students went off to their clubs, some hurried home, and others just stayed and hung around the classrooms to chat with others. Shirou wasn't in any of those groups. As he left the building, he had a goal in mind. During today's science lesson, he had been pondering what to cook that night. He decided to try something different, maybe a western dish involving chicken. To get what he needed, he would have to go by the market to pick up supplies before heading back home.<p>

On his way to the market, he decided to take a shortcut through a nearby park. He was going over what all he might need when his thinking was interrupted by a sharp shout. The boy jumped in place and looked around, unsure of where the sound was coming from. He picked up the pace and began to search for the source. His heart raced as the shout rang out again, this time accompanied by laughter. Within moments he came across a scene that made his blood boil.

There was a girl with purple hair curled up in a ball on the ground. Her clothes were dirty and torn. Tears ran down her face in streams. There was a group of boys surrounding her; laughing and kicking dirt. "Serves you right!" One of them shouted out. He had short dark blue hair and his face was pulled up in a hateful scowl. He reached down and grabbed her by the hair. He pulled her head up off the ground to look at him. "Just because you can do it and I can't you think you're so much better than me don't you?!"

Before Shirou knew it, he was moving. Something inside of him had snapped, it was almost as if a switch had been thrown. He sprinted across the grass faster than he ever had before. "Leave her alone!" he shouted through gritted teeth.

The blue haired boy released the girls' hair and looked at him with surprise. Shirou closed the distance quickly. Something was burning inside of him; he couldn't stop and yell at them, he needed to take action. With little warning he cocked back a fist. The dark haired boy stepped back in surprise, but it was too late. The fist impacted hard onto his face, toppling him over onto the ground.

After the first boy fell, the other two were upon him. They swung hard, but Shirou was numb to their blows. He fought back hard, not letting up in the slightest. Something hard collided with the side of his head and he could feel something warm sliding down his face. His swings were random, almost flailing at this point. He tackled one of them to the ground and started swinging down hard on the boy's scared face.

"What the hell did he do to my hand?" the one left standing was looking at his left hand in horror. His knuckles were bleeding and misshapen, as if something had crushed them.

The boy with blue hair shakily stood to his feet and took off in the direction of the road. The other one followed him, clutching his damaged hand and howling in pain. The third was still getting wailed on.

"Shirou, that's enough." The redhead froze, his fists stopping inches from the last boy's battered face. He looked over his shoulder to see a familiar face standing over him; Kiritsugu Emiya. He was standing there in his usual suit, a scowl written on his face. Upon seeing his father, the boy hurriedly jumped off his target, and looked away, feeling guilty. The man's gaze moved from his son to the now surprised looking girl. "Girl, are you alright?"

The girl wordlessly nodded. Her eyes were dull and unfocused, seemingly detached from the world around her.

Kiritsugu's eyes narrowed. He turned from them and began to walk back towards the road. "Shirou come with me." The boy began to follow him, still hanging his head. "You too girl." The purple haired girl followed wordlessly.

When they reached the road, they found his father's old black Lincoln parked along the curve. Wordlessly, they all got in the car and set off. Kiritsugu look at the girl though his mirror. "You live at the Matou manor right?" The girl seemed slightly surprised, but gave another of her quiet nods.

Shirou was confused at this, but decided to keep his questions to himself at the moment. His father didn't seem to be in the best of moods. After a few minutes they pulled up to the Emiya Estate. "Shirou, you get out here, I'll be back after I drop her off and explain this to her parents." There was no argument in his tone.

Shirou slid out of the seat. "Uhmm…" the girl squeaked out, drawing his attention. "Thank…thank you."

The boy couldn't help but smile.

* * *

><p>After his father returned, the two of them ended up sitting together on the back porch. It was pleasant that night, there was a cool gentle breeze blowing in from the east and the moon was full and bright overhead. Shirou tore his eyes from the sky and looked over towards his father. He had seemed furious with him when he found him fighting. All he wanted to do was save the girl, was it really so bad what he had done? The man's were closed. "Hey, old man." Kiritsugu looked over to his adopted son. "I know why you're mad, but I won't say I'm sorry."<p>

"Oh?" his father questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Really..." The man had been lost in thought. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarrete. He lit it and took a long drag. After a moment his face hardened. "Tell me Shirou, why did you save that girl today?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why did you do it?" Kiritsugu questioned again.

Shirou really didn't know how to answer. "I saw what they were doing to her…and I got mad." Mad was an understatement. He had been furious. It was as if a fire had been lit deep inside of him that threatened to burn him alive if he didn't take action.

"You got mad, so you attacked them?" His father sighed, almost sounding disappointed.

"I couldn't just sit there and do nothing!" Shirou raised his voice. "They were hurting her!"

Kiritsugu turned to him with a stern look. "You were concerned for her?"

"Yes!"

His father turned away again and took a deep breath. "When you saw her being attacked, what was it that made you angry? Were you angry with the boys because they were hurting her…or…were you mad because she was hurt."

"Wha.." Once again Shirou was confused. What did his father mean by that? It really didn't matter did it? The girl needed help and he had acted; why couldn't it be that simple?

"There is an important difference between the two Shirou." Kiritsugu continued. "There is some overlap between them, but the intent couldn't be more different." He removed the cigarette from his mouth and put it out on an ashtray. "If you were angry at the boys for hurting her, than you probably wanted to punish them for their actions. If the girl being hurt is what upset you, then what you wanted to do is remove the danger."

Shirou stared at the man before him dumbfounded. He didn't really put that much thought into it, he had just acted.

"Well, which was it?"

He wasn't sure, it had all happened so fast. Sakura, the boys who were hurting her, it was just all so confusing.

"Did you want to hurt them?"

"huh?"

"The boys, did you want to hurt them?"

"No." Shirou replied almost instantly. "I didn't want to hurt them; I just wanted them to stop!" At the time he just wanted to get them away from her. Fighting just seemed like the quickest way to do it. With the last one… With that one he had lost himself in the moment, but knew it was wrong. When he had seen the boy's face, he knew he had made it mistake. But the mistake wasn't in helping the girl; there was no questioning that.

"Then it was the latter." Kiritsugu said with finality. Shirou quieted down as his father dropped the topic. There would be no more discussion; the man seemed to have heard what he wanted. It was dark outside, with nothing but the light of the moon; but even so, Shirou thought he could make out the ghost of a grin on the man's face.

The two sat together in silence for a time before the man continued. "You know, when I was a boy, people called me a hero." He stated without warning.

"What do you mean, you were?" Shirou asked. "You gave it up or something?"

"Sadly, yes." The man's gaze trailed off into the distance. "Shirou, you can only be a hero for so long. Once you become an adult, it becomes much harder to call yourself one." He let out a sigh. "Sometimes, I wish I had realized that sooner."

"Oh." replied Shirou. "So there wasn't much you could do about it."

"Yes…yes I suppose you're right." His father answered. His gaze wondered back to the moon. "The moon's so beautiful tonight."

"Yeah…" Shirou mumbled to himself. "I suppose that settles it."

"Settles what?"

"Since you couldn't be one, I'll be a hero instead." The boy stated proudly. When the girl had thanked him, he felt good, better than he had in a long time. Maybe that was how Kiritsugu felt when he saved him years ago. "You're an adult now, so you missed your chance, but I can do it." He shot the man a grin. "If you can't be a hero, I'll become one in your place."

"I see." His father replied with a faint smile. "Yes, that's a relief."

The two of them would sit there together for a while longer in silence. "Shirou."

"Yeah?" The boy turned to face his father once again. His voice was different then it had been moments before. There was little playfulness in it; the man was all business again.

"Do you still want me to teach you?" Shirou stared at his father for a while in shock. The boy slowly nodded once. Perhaps, he wouldn't have to wait for his birthday after all.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Age References. Shirou (7 during fire)(almost 11 now) Taiga(13) <strong>_

_**So yes, as you can see there are some different situations here. Also, please bear in mind that I have had to slam together 2 magical systems for these 2 worlds to work together. It will not be following strict HP rules, nor will it be adhering fully to Nasu-verse mechanics. Now, if there are any questions which you would like answered, just ask me. However, if it is plot relevant I may choose to withhold that information until it comes up. **_


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